


armored

by Bright_Elen



Series: war footing [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Armor, Armor Kink, Banter, Clothing imbalance, Denial of Feelings, Emotionally Repressed, M/M, POV Cassian Andor, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Self-Harm, Substitution, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, do not copy to another site, gonna count this as emotional self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22306735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bright_Elen/pseuds/Bright_Elen
Summary: Lately, Cassian hasn't been able to ignore his libido. He isn't sure why he's suddenly so very attracted to people in armor, but then he never looks at his own psyche too closely.A Mandalorian walks into a bar, and Cassian gets a night of what he's been craving.So why, when the morning comes, is he dissatisfied?
Relationships: Cassian Andor & K-2SO, Cassian Andor/K-2SO, Cassian Andor/The Mandalorian
Series: war footing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918522
Comments: 24
Kudos: 118





	armored

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Rogue Witcher](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22221610) by [theLoyalRoyalGuard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLoyalRoyalGuard/pseuds/theLoyalRoyalGuard). 



Until recently, Cassian had gone a long time without thinking much about sex. Years. He'd suffered through a high libido as an adolescent, horribly distracted until he found relief with another teen freedom fighter. But after about a year of stolen moments, a mission killed her, and by then the urgency of Cassian's sex drive had faded enough to be ignored.

Now he was just past twenty and it was making itself known again. He didn't understand it, least of all when the kinds of people he wanted seemed random: a heavy infantry Alliance soldier. A gladiator performing for the entertainment of some mid-level Imperials. Hell, even a Black Sun thug. They weren't all the same species, let alone the same build or gender, but they all caught Cassian's eye and stuck in his mind. Long enough to dwell on the memories in private and disrupt his routines. Enough to require a solution.

"Kay," Cassian said one day as they were waiting to come out of hyperspace, and described the people in question. It should have occurred to him to ask Kay sooner, probably, but even after two years of working together, Cassian still sometimes forgot there was someone both competent and trustworthy to ask for help. "What do these people have in common? There must be something but I can't put my finger on it." Telling Kay why he was asking might have helped, but it might have also skewed the answer.

"Three is hardly a valid sample size."

"Humor me."

Kay huffed — simulated, of course, and something he'd only started doing in the last few weeks. Cassian wasn't sure where he'd picked it up, but it was yet another quirk that Alliance droid techs noted disapprovingly in his file. Cassian would never admit it to anyone, but he found he liked it. Kay's increasingly unique personality was a kind of rebellion all its own. 

"There are numerous common traits. All of them are organic, bipedal, oxygen-tolerant, within one standard deviation of median body mass, and neither juvenile nor decrepit," Kay said. "None of them were Imperial, and none attacked you. All of them were presumably combat-proficient, as all wore heavy armor—" and something clicked. As Kay kept talking, Cassian reviewed his mental images of his lust objects. As an experiment he brought up memories of other armored people, and then had to stop, lest the validity of the results become too obvious.

As long as it wasn't white plastoid, Cassian had developed a thing for armor. 

"...they were all secretly infiltration droids which you detected through a heretofore dormant electromagnetic sense."

Cassian gave Kay a bewildered look.

"So you weren't completely distracted. I'd be offended but I've seen you ignore your own wounds more effectively."

"You're still mad about that? It was the middle of a firefight."

"You turned a hairline fracture into a complete break."

"I had to get to the ship, and it healed in the end regardless."

"You could have called me," Kay pointed out. "And you weren't the one who had to put up with you for three additional weeks of medical leave."

Cassian did not say aloud that he had to put up with himself constantly. "If you'd let me do more desk work, I'd have bothered you less."

"You also had a concussion. The doctors were very clear about your limitations."

"Anyway," Cassian said, hoping Kay would drop it, "You helped me figure it out. Thank you." 

Kay's slouch uncoiled by a few degrees. "What significance do those people have, anyway? None of them have been essential to missions." 

"Sorry, Kay," Cassian said. "Need-to-know only."

"Hmph." Kay turned back to the controls, movements stiff. Cassian tried not to feel like he'd teased Kay with a problem and then denied him the results.

It was only partially effective.

* * *

Another mission, another regret, another reason for Cassian to hate himself. Especially since the blood he'd spilled hadn't bought a successful mission.

He needed, more than anything, to get out of his own head.

He found one of the nicer bars in the rough part of town, so drunks were more likely to be robbed instead of murdered or slaved, and anyway he didn't much care what happened to him at that point. Kay had been on assignment in the neighboring star system and it would take at least another day for him to arrive to extract him, so Cassian found a comfortable corner and started drinking.

The first few shots dulled the edges of his own mind to a tolerable ache, and he sat in that for a while. Maybe he shouldn't have been doing that. Maybe he should have been trying to forget his own name, but...who knew. It could have been that he still wasn't quite ready to throw away what little he had left. Or maybe he was just wallowing, savoring the various stages of misery to better punish himself for unforgivable acts. 

Not that it mattered.

A few hours after he'd sat down, the cantina door whooshed open, and a Mandalorian stepped inside.

Even drunk, Cassian noticed the effect on the patrons immediately; it began as a few turned heads, a few murmurs, eyes snapping onto the Mandalorian and then averted. It rippled through the crowd, along with a palpable tension. After the Purge, most people only saw Mandalorians when one had come to collect a bounty. True to this, once the armored man had sat down at the bar, a number of people rose and made for the exit in the quietest and most orderly panic Cassian had ever seen.

The Mandalorian wasn't interested in anyone who left. He gestured to the bartender. There was an exchange of words, and soon after that a glass appeared in front of the Mandalorian, a few fingers of amethyst liquor catching light in its depths.

Cassian expected the Mandalorian to take his helmet off and drink— otherwise, why would be be in a cantina? But he instead, he touched a spot on the wrist of his gauntlet, a small, cylindrical device emerging like a droid's dataspike. Intrigued, Cassian watched the Mandalorian pulled the cylinder out and swirled it in his drink. A few seconds later, he wiped the tool clean on a stray napkin and returned it to his gauntlet.

Testing for poison, Cassian guessed. He could appreciate that level of caution.

Contrary to Cassian's expectations, the man didn't bare his head then, either. Instead, he pulled a hollow reed from his other gauntlet, put it in the drink, raised the glass, and angled the open end of the straw up behind the edge of his helmet.

It should have looked ridiculous, a grown man sipping firewater through a straw under his helmet, but it wasn't. Maybe because the way he carried himself never stopped displaying a quiet strength and agility. Maybe because the Mandalorian reputation (and the Mandalorian blaster rifle) were too scary to be funny.

Or maybe Cassian was just too busy staring at the armor. It wasn't the biggest or prettiest set he'd seen, but the damage in the brown enamel, showing the metal underneath, caught his eye. Well-used armor, by a man used to combat, who cared about functionality rather than flash. Cassian couldn't stop thinking about how it might feel under his hands, against his skin.

Before he realized what he was doing, Cassian had stood, taking his current drink with him, and went to sit down in the unoccupied seat second from the Mandalorian's left. There were enough empty seats that he could have taken the one right next to him, but even drunk, Cassian knew not to spook fighters. 

"Evening," he said, body angled in the Mandalorian's direction.

The helmet turned slightly in Cassian's direction. "Evening." 

Cassian leaned an elbow on the bar. "You off-duty, or waiting for someone?" 

The Mandalorian considered him for a moment. He was seeing the nondescript trousers and comfortable leather jacket Cassian wore when he needed to blend in as a civilian, as well as his practiced relaxed demeanor. "I don't drink on the job." 

Cassian found himself smiling. "It's nice to take a break now and then, isn't it." As long as they didn't last longer than he needed to sleep off the latest mission, that is.

"Mm." The Mandalorian took another drink, helmet pointing back towards the bar, looking away from Cassian but not so much that he couldn't see an attack coming. Cassian tilted his own body a few degrees towards the bar as well, mirroring the Mandalorian, and the two of them drank in silence for a while. Cassian kept track of how much liquor was left in the other's glass, and sipped his own drink to match. When the Mandalorian put his straw away, there was only a mouthful of amber liquid left in Cassian's glass.

"Want company tonight?" Cassian offered before the other stood, leaning forward a few degrees, knee falling open a little, just enough to indicate interest without coming on too strong.

For the first time, the Mandalorian looked at him full on. He stared for a long moment, long enough that Cassian tried to remember what was behind him in case he needed to lunge away from an attack.

"I don't take my helmet off for anyone," the Mandalorian finally said, like he was expecting that to change Cassian's mind.

"I don't want you to." Cassian's heart started to beat faster at the prospect. He licked his lips. "Or the armor, either."

Another long look between them, dark eyes into a darker viewslit.

"All right," the Mandalorian said, getting to his feet. "My ship isn't far."

_ You are absolutely  _ **_not_ ** _ boarding a stranger's ship,  _ Cassian's brain used Kay's voice to tell him, and he had to agree. "What about getting a room?" Cassian suggested. "I'll pay." Nothing in the neighborhood would exceed his budget, and he had enough credits. Usually, he didn't tend to take enough leave to spend his pay.

The Mandalorian hesitated, but then nodded once. "I have a place in mind." 

Cassian wasn't surprised. Anyone who tested their drinks for poison wouldn't set foot in a building chosen by someone else, even a relatively harmless-looking one-night-stand.

They walked out into the night together, Cassian sobering a little at the attention the Mandalorian drew, but soon enough he was passing a credit chit to a clerk who was doing a poor job of hiding his intense curiosity about the pair of them, and then he and the Mandalorian were opening their rented room.

The Mandalorian went in first, blaster pistol drawn. Cassian let him sweep the room.

"Clear," the Mandalorian said.

Cassian entered, closed the door, activated the digital lock, and added his own portable device that magnetically clamped the door to its housing. "You can deactivate it with that button," he assured the Mandalorian, who tested it, reactivated it, and seemed satisfied.

Satisfied enough to crowd Cassian against the door. He was only a little taller than Cassian, but the armor and the proximity let him loom all the same. Heat flooded Cassian's chest and coiled into his stomach, and he let his eyes rake down the other man, his hand land on his chest plate, the feel of metal pouring fuel on the fire.

"You want me to keep this on," the Mandalorian said, voice low, gloved hands finding Cassian's waist. "What about you?"

He wanted that metal against his skin, wanted it badly enough that he didn't care how stupid it was to strip for a stranger. "Naked."

The Mandalorian hummed in approval, and reached up to open Cassian's jacket and push it off his shoulders. He wasn't rough about it, but not gentle, either; the word  _ efficient  _ came to Cassian's mind, sent a bolt of need through him, and he was hard by the time the Mandalorian had relieved him of his shirt.

The Mandalorian took hold of Cassian's belt and used it to drag him across the room and onto the bed. Heart beating fast, Cassian unfastened and kick his boots off, and then the Mandalorian was taking his trousers and underwear. 

A small part of Cassian insisted that he should have felt intolerably exposed and at a horrible disadvantage; the Mandalorian hadn't even disarmed. But the buzz of alcohol and the pounding of his own blood in his ears and cock made that easy to ignore, especially when he was lying naked on the bed, a man in full armor standing over him, helmet tilted at a very slight angle to look him over. Cassian's cock started to leak.

"Thighs or anal?" the Mandalorian said, and the unadorned, practical question elicited a hitch of breath from Cassian.

"You got a condom? Lube?"

A nod.

Cassian looked steadily at the helmet's visor, enjoying the hard lines of the rest of the armor from his peripheral vision. "Anal, then."

The Mandalorian rested one knee on the mattress next to Cassian's hip, leaned farther over him, and put his hand on Cassian's jaw. He smoothed the rough leather down his throat, his chest, his hip, curving around to knead his ass. Cassian shifted, seeking more, grasping at shoulders and chest again. After the third squeeze, Cassian moaned, hand flying up to the back of the Mandalorian's head, the smooth dome and the ridges of the center stripe under his fingers almost electrifying.

Cassian was on his stomach so fast he didn't even realize what had happened until he registered the metallic weight bearing him into the mattress and the fact that both wrists were caught in a crushing grip.

"Don't," the Mandalorian growled in his ear, "touch my helmet. Or weapons." 

Heart hammering at the danger but without any leverage to do anything about it, Cassian held very, very still.  _ You drunken idiot.  _ "Understood," he panted. "Won't happen again."

Another moment in the unyielding grip — long enough for Cassian to realize he found it arousing as well as threatening — and then he was released. Relief and disappointment coursing through him, Cassian pushed up onto his elbows to look over his shoulder.

The Mandalorian was still kneeling over him, watching, possibly still not convinced of Cassian's agreement to the conditions.

Then, as if Cassian hadn't been at the mercy of a heavily armed and armored man, he said, "You can take me like this." On his stomach, he'd be almost no threat.

_ Careful,  _ the voice said again.  _ Your death wish is showing. _

Cassian ignored it. "Give me the lube. I'll open myself up."

The Mandalorian hesitated, then reached into one of his many pockets, pulling out a small tube. This he handed to Cassian, who watched while he found a square foil packet in another pocket. 

Cassian slicked up his fingers, rose to hand and knees, and reached back to penetrate himself. When he had one finger all the way in, he shot the Mandalorian a needy look. "Touch me." 

Still watching Cassian as he worked his finger in circles, the Mandalorian slowly stripped off first one glove, then the other. Cassian tried to be interested by seeing his bare skin for the first time — a shade much like his own, he thought — but he didn't quite succeed.

No matter. He forgot his dissatisfaction as soon as the Mandalorian leaned close, armored chest against Cassian's back again, one hand going to tease Cassian's nipple, and his knee sliding up between Cassian's legs. There was metal against his back and the tender skin of his inner thighs, hard and cool and perfect, and he pushed into it, bumped it with his knuckles. 

"Yeah," Cassian half-moaned, half-panted. "That's good." He pulled his hand back, added a second finger. The stretch, and the metal against his body, and the hands at his ass and nipple, all scrambled Cassian's thoughts with pleasure and desire.

He was, in the end, too impatient to wait much longer after he'd stuffed a third finger into himself. "Almost ready." 

The Mandalorian sat back on his heels, opened his trousers and the condom both, and pulled his cock out.

Cassian looked just long enough to see that the Mandalorian appeared disease-free, and then closed his eyes and kriffed himself a little deeper while he waited.

Then the Mandalorian's armored weight was behind and above him again. He tapped Cassian's wrist, and Cassian obligingly pulled out, then braced his forearms on the mattress.

"Ah," Cassian said as the Mandalorian's cock stretched him further. "Ah, kriff, yeah." 

The Mandalorian grunted. When he was fully seated, he curled forward, pressing armor into Cassian's skin again. Cassian closed his eyes, savoring the feeling while he waited to adjust. 

He hadn't been sure, until that moment, that the Mandalorian would wait for him, and he'd judged it worth the risk, but something about the fact that he had hit Cassian deep in the chest. Nowhere he wanted to feel or think about, so he rocked back before he was really ready, the burn drowning out the emotion. "Go ahead." 

The Mandalorian grasped Cassian's hips, shifted slightly to get a more stable base, and thrust. Cassian gritted his teeth through the pain, forced himself to relax, angled his hips to better take the other man's cock. After a few more thrusts the pain and pleasure evened out, and a few more after that, the Mandalorian hit Cassian's sweet spot and everything was wonderful.

"Kriff," Cassian grunted. "Kriff, that's good." 

The Mandalorian said nothing, only put a hand between Cassian's shoulder blades and pushed down on his next thrust. Cassian complied, lowering face and chest to the mattress. The new angle had metal biting into his thighs, which was almost better than the Mandalorian kriffing him deep enough to hit his sweet spot several times in a row.

"Harder," Cassian managed, and started working his hand closer to his cock.

The Mandalorian dug his fingers into Cassian's hips, grip strong enough to make them feel like metal, and Cassian keened, starting to come even before he pumped his cock, even before the other man's pounding overloaded his sweet spot with an explosion of pleasure.

He was too far gone to fully perceive what happened next, but the sensory overload of being kriffed post-orgasm and his own moans were part of it, as well as the panting and grunts of the Mandalorian until he stopped, hips grinding against Cassian's ass, hands bruising Cassian's hips while he pulsed inside him.

A few moments later, the Mandalorian pulled out, collapsing to sitting on the bed, barely upright and breathing heavily. Cassian rolled onto his side, away from the mess, away from the other man.

When he could string words together again, Cassian cleared his throat. "Thanks. I needed that." 

The mattress shifted behind Cassian as the Mandalorian stood up. "So did I." 

"Want the shower?"

"No." 

Cassian watched him check his armor, clothes and weapons, and then deactivate the locks on the door and leave.

Cassian forced himself to get up and lock the door again, and then to take a shower, get dressed. 

On the way to another rented room overlooking the square where he was to meet Kay the next morning, Cassian couldn't stop unease from creeping over him. He hadn't had an orgasm that powerful in a long, long time, but despite his body's satisfaction, it didn't feel clean.

But why? The Mandalorian hadn't tried to hurt or exploit him, and he hadn't hurt or exploited the Mandalorian. Because he'd taken a risk? He took risks all the time that didn't leave him feeling like this, especially if he came out of them unharmed.

It was probably the mission still weighing on him. There weren't any other reasons that made any sense.

* * *

Kay had pulled Cassian out of many sticky situations — firefights, sieges, criminal dens. But when he spotted the droid towering head and shoulders over everyone else, it lifted Cassian's spirits more than ever, even without any immediate threats he needed rescuing from. 

When they were back in the ship together, Kay looked Cassian over critically. "You look remarkably — dare I say, suspiciously — not-terrible. Especially compared to similar time frames after other failed missions."

The reminder of the mission knocked Cassian's mood down a few notches. "It wasn't that kind of failure."

"If you'd let me stay in orbit, or a hidden landing site," Kay said, sensing weakness, "I could have been here to extract you half a day sooner."

He admitted, if only to himself, that he would have much preferred Kay's arrival to getting drunk, and not just because of the headache currently pulsing behind his eyes. But given Kay's track record of disobeying orders when he thought Cassian needed help, it hadn't been worth the risk to keep him close, especially on planets like this one where the Empire was less than adored.

"Yes," Cassian sighed. "You could have."

Kay bent down to get a closer look at him. "You're agreeing with me? Are you feverish?" He reached for Cassian, no doubt trying to get the temperature sensors in his hands against the human's forehead, but a spike of alarm threw Cassian into a dodge.

"I'm fine," he said, and wove around Kay to strap himself into the co-pilot seat, determinedly not asking himself why he'd basically jumped away. "Let's go."

Kay huffed, but he sat in the pilot's seat and began the takeoff sequence. Cassian's familiar fondness tightened painfully in his chest. For a moment, it hurt so much Cassian had to pause the pre-flight checklist to close his eyes and breathe through it. 

But he did get through the worst of it, and then it was tolerable again. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter. Cassian could ignore it and focus on the Rebellion, and that was the important thing.


End file.
